


The Third Man Factor

by primeideal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mountain climbers and Antarctic explorers often report the presence of one more person than they know should be there. Wizards aren't any different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Man Factor

**Author's Note:**

> For Lily-And-Black Winter Fest 2013; prompt "Who is the third who walks always beside you?"

Regulus has never been alone.  
There have always been shadows;  
Sirius, his blazing brother, shines  
and he is content to sit back,  
adjusting his hair, uncrossing his legs,  
reveling in the blackness.  
He has grown up a wizard  
and that is to be surrounded by ghosts,  
literal phantasms who will not let you  
touch their empty hands, and the others,  
ancestors who look down on you  
from their decrepit smelly portrait frames,  
or, on the tapestry, their shining names.

Lily could be content to grow  
in Petunia's shades, or beneath  
Severus' watchful wings.  
But all the same, she's able to soar  
without trying. She learns quickly  
when she wants to--Potions, buried underground,  
or even Herbology, under the glass.  
What she does not need to study  
is instinct, raw and sudden;  
nothing like the rooted plants  
or the sealed-up cauldrons.  
The lightning flash, the first punch of a brawl,  
the way you fall in love. Or simply fall.

Lily is twelve when they first meet;  
they pass a dozen times, maybe a gross.  
He never takes her in. Her blood is low.  
It can sink down the staircase, he won't care.  
There are insubstantial ghosts that flit  
or poltergeists you have to dodge  
if you want to get to class on time  
and all sorts of magical creatures  
that you can't meet until third year.  
(It wouldn't be proper before then.  
The young ones might get hurt.)  
He has no time to notice every face  
that twists and turns through impossible space.

Regulus is twelve when he goes out  
for the Quidditch team. He doesn't make it  
the first time around. So he practices, pushing  
himself to the limit. Spiralling into thin air,  
until he's lost above the stadium.  
That's the first time he sees his Teammate.  
He doesn't ask questions. He is used  
to magic. Never mind that Seekers  
have to fly alone. "Spit, that will eventually  
show you which way gravity points."  
Without question, he trusts, and lands,  
and only half-remembers he had flown  
the whole evening while wholly on his own.

And when the young Purebloods begin to duel,  
he doesn't bother to learn their spellworks,  
but walks among them, knowing when to dodge--  
a wand beam's not as wide as a Bludger.  
He doesn't need his brother to defend  
him when the Teammate is around,  
who'll show him the way out of danger  
if things get rough. The Gryffindors  
still learn to channel fire through their hands,  
till it snakes out in waves up, down, around,  
and Lily laughs, to see him stand aside.  
"Regulus." "Lily. You're not like them?" "I'm  
convinced there's more I could do with my time."

But when they go to Hogsmeade time is slow.  
It's some enchantment, he is half-convinced,  
that it should not race by and leave regret.  
True, the walks up to the castle are long--  
"Where are those carriages when you need them?"  
"Is it true what they say, that you can't see  
the horses bearing them, till you've seen death?"  
He scoffs but wonders what hides out of sight  
until death paces by, then intercedes;  
some walker who must need no horse to ride.  
Lily with her keen eyes seeks a reply.  
"I don't know that much. I have an old name,  
But as mages we might be worth the same."

By the time he is burned off the tapestry  
it's passé. Sirius has managed  
to find a wealthy couple to lodge him.  
Lucky Sirius. As usual.  
The Evanses are polite, but distant,  
and he and Lily aren't that close at first.  
He winds up in his teammates' families' houses,  
some who don't understand him, but who cares  
when he can win games in a single dive?  
He feints and plummets, tries to win their trust,  
makes the Gryffindor crash. He's no turncoat.  
Again, the Teammate's there to guide his way;  
"Pull up, slow down, there's still more time to play."

Lily learns to control her magic;  
never give it up, but never let it out  
until she knows when to strike,  
or is called to defend  
herself, her friends, the helpless, the uncontrollable.  
Regulus is incredulous.  
"You're joining a secret society?"  
"It's hardly secret anymore,  
no more than your housemates' little gangs."  
"But these kids, they're all your age,  
you wouldn't stand a chance against the worst  
that's out there?" "You could help out, if you care."  
He's late to tag along. So no change there.

They marry on an ordinary day.  
Sirius is crowing the entire time  
and in one of the pictures  
you can still see Regulus roll his eyes.  
Dumbledore officiates in his  
Wizengamot capacity and spangled robes,  
seemingly bemused by it all, as if  
having to remind himself  
that stranger people have fallen in love.  
Petunia shows up late, with her husband  
who won't admit it but who's half-impressed  
at the in-law. Quite proper. Upper class.  
Sirius mimics him and it's quite crass.

Regulus understands more about the Death Eaters  
than he lets on. He'd wear a mask too  
if the rest of the Order let him.  
"They have to understand," says Lily,  
"it's not just Muggle-borns, not just the fringe;  
they're mental and the whole world knows.  
Besides, weren't you the one who told me  
seventeen was not too young to come of age?"  
"The whole world doesn't know," he points out,  
"Muggles don't know, that's rather the point."  
He says it without thought, now, with an ease  
born of practice. She gives a smile, a blush,  
before another duel in rage and rush.

The Death Eaters make their own light,  
picking their fights under the emerald sign  
of death and conquest. The Order is on  
defense, too scared to take initiative  
or too controlled, whatever Dumbledore's spewing.  
Oh, the Longbottoms whisper that they stand  
a chance, but are still madly in love.  
They'd fight on just the same, either way.  
This is an isolated raid, worse than the last  
several, no way to call for help. Just sparks.  
Red, duck, gold, dodge, green, whirl, blue, gulp, white, aim.  
Another restrained Stunning spell to cast;  
another fear this curse will be his last.

Then the Teammate is there, by his side,  
who needs no wand, immune to every blow.  
"Don't mind the wards, you know how to escape."  
Regulus sneaks along the pointed way,  
and knows just when to duck or reach behind  
him to pick off some coward out of sight.  
His breath is slow, his toes curl in his shoes  
until his landing feet barely make noise.  
The Death Eaters are confused, call him names  
he does not hear. No time for distractions.  
It's just a sign he's going the right way.  
He reaches the wards, can escape. "Thank you,"  
he whispers. But the Teammate's gone from view.

And suddenly he's turning back around.  
Escape is not good enough anymore,  
hasn't been for a while now. "You--"  
Lily starts. He shakes his head. "We're outnumbered,  
let's pick our battles, this one isn't it."  
He leads her back; fueled by terror, they fly  
on tired feet. "The wards stop here." "But how--"  
"Just Apparate, I'll follow." Then she's gone  
and he is holding off another spell  
cast from approaching shadows. They close in,  
too many to withstand. But the fear fades  
and in the end he thinks at last he's seen  
how to join in a team. The sky burns green.


End file.
